I bowed to him as a thank you. "That's all very nice to hear, but I'm thinking your mood might have something to do with the red haired, rock 'n' roll loving antique peddler across the lane."
Ryder lifted a glass vase of yellow roses to make sure it was even on all sides. "Yes, you could be right about that." He put the vase down and patted his pocket. "And I've got my money all ready for the picnic basket auction."
"Oh, are you planning on buying a basket? That's nice. I heard the town council uses the money to spruce up the town square during the holidays."
"I'm not planning to buy a basket. I'm going to buy Lola's. It's sort of part of the tradition to buy the basket of the person you've asked to the festival."
I dropped the last pot of rosemary on the floor, but the tiny plant managed to stay tucked in place. I stooped down. As I swept stray dirt back into the pot, I jumped back in my memory to look for a mention, any mention of Lola's basket. I couldn't recall that scenario, and knowing Lola as well as I did, I was sure she had no intention of making one. Nor did I, for that matter.
I pushed back to my feet. "So, if Detective Briggs asked me to the fireworks show, then there's a good chance that he expects to buy my basket?"
"I'd say so. I mean Detective Briggs doesn't always participate in our quaint town traditions, but he might be planning on it."
I plopped the last pot into the box. "Oh dear. I'll be right back, Ryder." I hurried to the office to grab my wallet and headed to the door.
"I take it you're going to the Corner Market to buy picnic basket items," he said.
"Nothing gets past you, buddy." I pushed out the door and glanced back into the window to make sure Ryder's focus was on his work. Then I shot across the street and into Lola's shop. I found her between customers, perusing a magazine at the counter.
"Grab some cash, friend. We've got shopping to do at Corner Market."
Her brows were scrunched as she glanced up. "I'm good. I just bought groceries yesterday."
"Nope you're not good. Unless you've already prepared your picnic basket for the auction."
She laughed and returned her attention to the magazine. "I don't participate in that outdated and, sexist, I might add, tradition."
I walked to the counter and took hold of her wrist. "You do this year because Ryder has his cash and his bid ready to go. He's waiting to buy a basket. Your basket, to be exact."
She stared wide-eyed at me across the glass counter to see if I was kidding. I wasn't.
"Ugh," she groaned and took heavy stomping steps toward her office. "I don't even know what to put in one of those baskets."
"That makes two of us." I headed to the door to wait for her.
She returned still wearing her invisible, lead-filled shoes.
"Oh, cheer up," I said. "Besides, Ryder will be happy with a few granola bars and a premade tuna sandwich as long as it comes in your basket. Oh wait, do you have baskets? Something tells me Corner Market will be sold out."
Lola sighed. "I've got a few we can use. I'll just have to wipe the centuries of dust out of them."
I pushed open the door and then put my hand up abruptly, accidentally smacking her in the chest.
"Ouch."
"Sorry about that. Let me first scan my shop window to see if Ryder is in view. I told him I was going out to buy stuff for my basket but he was already certain you had yours filled. You know, in anticipation of him bidding on it." I squinted across the street. The glare on the front window made it hard to tell, but I didn't see any tall heads in view. "Coast is clear. Let's roll."
Chapter 9
I made Lola cross the street after we passed the flower shop. I decided to avoid walking directly past the police station. If Briggs was expecting to buy my picnic basket, I certainly didn't want him knowing that I was just putting the thing together hours before the evening auction. It was important that he knew I put a lot of thought into my embarrassingly thoughtless basket.
As we crossed Franki's Diner parking lot, Lola elbowed me and motioned with her head toward the entrance of the pier. Kate Yardley was standing on the first step talking to none other than my neighbor, Dash. She was pinching the skirt of her cute little sailor dress and tilting her head sweetly as she peered up at him through red, white and blue bangs.
"I'd love to be a pigeon on the pier to hear that conversation," Lola quipped.
I decided not to mention Dash's invitation to the fireworks show. Lola usually ran off with that kind of information and made it into something much bigger than it deserved.
"Let's concentrate on our picnic baskets. Then I'll tell you about Kate and her shady business practices."
My earlier prediction that the Corner Market would be sold out of baskets was correct. Unfortunately, they'd also sold out of a lot of the prepackaged snack foods like chips and granola bars. Lola and I had started our baskets too late. In our defense, we hadn't realized we were making them until a few minutes earlier.
Gigi Upton, who co-owned the store with her husband Tom, was stacking some apples in the produce stand. Her dachshunds Molly and Buddy were stretched out at her feet. Today she had them dressed in stars and stripes t-shirts. Just like Kate was the human fashion icon for the town, Molly and Buddy were Port Danby's canine trendsetters.
After seeing Kate with Dash on the pier, I wondered if the two of them were firming up plans for a date to the fireworks show. Maybe Kate would be slipping into the market any moment to buy food for a last minute basket too. I stretched up to peer over the bread display. The front window afforded a great view of the pier. They were still chatting.
I headed to the lunch meats, deciding I was going to need to come up with some sort of sandwich idea. Lola had gone straight to the ready-made sandwiches and salads supplied to Corner Market by a local deli.
"Oh man," Lola whined from the back of the store. "Even the deli stuff is all gone." Lola came around the corner. "That's it. Ryder is getting a gourmet basket of cold Pop Tarts and marshmallows."
I pulled a package of sliced peppered turkey from the refrigerator section. "Look, we can buy the stuff to make turkey and cheese sandwiches. There's no reason why we can't make identical baskets. Somehow, I don't picture Ryder and Briggs comparing notes."
"Good idea. Choose the cheese and I'll go pick some bread. Hopefully, there will be more than just cinnamon raisin and gluten free on the shelf."
There were still enough cheeses left to make the decision process lengthy. It seemed cheddar was my safest bet but then a nice slice of jalapeno jack cheese might spice things up some. But was I ready for spicing things up? I stifled a laugh, not wanting to look too nutty chortling in the cheese refrigerator.
Cellophane crackled behind me. Lola startled me by tapping me on the shoulder.
"Wow, the bread announced itself, but I didn't hear you walk up." I glanced down at the loaf of rye bread. "That's a good choice for turkey. I've got the meat and cheese. Let's get some tomatoes and red onion. The guys are going to be impressed with our culinary skills." I realized as I was rambling on about the sandwiches, Lola's attention had been diverted to the front of the store. She leaned right and left to get a look at something or someone between the grocery aisles.
"Who are you spying on?" I asked.
Lola shook her head. "I'm not." She hopped up on tiptoes to get a better look at her focal point.
"Then why are you doing ballet in the back of the store?"
She finally pulled her gaze from whatever was holding her interest. She leaned closer. "Check out the woman at the produce stand. I've never seen her before. She's really pretty."
I decided to humor her and peered around the display of dishwashing detergent. A woman, late twenties or early thirties, was smelling a cantaloupe. Lola was right. The woman had glowing golden skin, auburn hair and even from the distance I was standing, I could see that her eyes were bright blue.
I turned back to Lola and shrugged. "I'm sure she came in on one of those nice luxury boats in the mari
na. Probably in town for the fireworks show. I need to get back to the shop. Let's get the produce and check out."
The pretty stranger was still making her melon selection when we reached the tomatoes. She smiled briefly our way. I returned a polite nod. I searched for the reddest, ripest tomato, something to add a pop of sweet color to the sandwich. The onions and garlic in the next bin were intruding on my selection. Every tomato smelled like a bottle of spaghetti sauce.
"Oh, for heaven's sakes," Lola huffed as she picked up a large beefsteak tomato. "It's just a picnic basket. Not a culinary contest."
"Fine," I said with an insulted chin lift.
The attractive woman had chosen her melon, but as she walked past the front windows of the store something outside caught her eye. It was hard to know for sure, but it seemed she was watching the conversation between Dash and Kate. Dash was extremely handsome but even so, it seemed like an oddly long gaze for a stranger. It was almost as if she knew him. Before she turned away from the window, her brilliant blue gaze traveled across the street to the police station where it lingered for an odd amount of time.
"Is that all?" Gigi's question pulled me from my spy session. She circled behind the register. Molly came right up for a pat, but Buddy headed to the pillow behind the counter.
"Yep, this is it." I showed my wallet to Lola. "I've got this since you were a reluctant picnic maker, and I basically forced you into it."
Gigi smiled at our conversation. "You girls started this kind of late. Most of the gourmet goodies were bought up last week." She pulled out a paper bag to pack the food. "Let me know if you need help with anything," she called to the pretty woman. She had made her way back to the refrigerator section.
"Thanks, I will."
Lola leaned over the counter to whisper. "Who is she?"
Gigi shrugged. "I'm not sure but there is something familiar about her. Maybe she visits Port Danby every summer." She handed us the receipt and the bag. "Have fun. Sorry we don't have any more baskets."
"We've got that covered," I said. "Thanks, Gigi."
Lola and I hurried out of the store. The conversation on the pier had ended. Dash had gone back to work. Kate was heading toward Corner Market.
"Maybe she's going in to buy her picnic for Dash," Lola suggested.
"Maybe." I wasn't sure how I felt about Dash going to the celebration with Kate. Not sure why it bothered me but it did. And boy oh boy, was my mom going to be frowning in disappointment when she saw them together under the fireworks display.
Chapter 10
As luck would have it, Mom and Dad arrived at the shop just in time for Miss Hostess Supreme to put together my picnic basket. Of course she grumbled about the lack of pretty linen napkins and proper condiments while she created her divine looking sandwich. But then it wouldn't be Mom if there wasn't a grumble or two.
Les came over from the Coffee Hutch with complimentary mocha lattes for everyone. He and Dad hit it off instantly and quickly retired to the wonderful pub style seating in front of the Coffee Hutch to firm up details for a fishing trip. My dad heard the word fishing and stars, or maybe it was starfish, filled his eyes. It was no surprise to me that the two men got along immediately. My stomach was still in flutters, waiting for the big introduction. Elsie was busy in the bakery and hadn't had time to stop by.
"You'd think she could find a few minutes just to say hello," Mom muttered quietly as she cut some red, white and blue ribbon from the spools.
I finished the last calculation on a flower order and put my pen down. "She is running a busy bakery all by herself, Mom."
"Why doesn't she get a nice helper like Ryder?"
"I told you he was awesome. I'm sure if Elsie could find someone with all of Ryder's attributes, she'd hire the person instantly. He's just one of a kind."
Mom and Dad met Ryder before he took off for his break. They were both impressed. It was hard not to be with Ryder. He knew how to talk to everyone. Easy confidence came naturally to him in every situation and with everyone, save one person. Lola. His self-assurance just seemed to disappear whenever my best friend was near. I was hopeful that their relationship would start to blossom.
I carried my receipt book into the backroom. The shop bell rang. My mom stepped right out of picnic preparer and into flower shop saleswoman.
"How can we help you?" she asked whoever had walked inside.
"You must be Peggy," Elsie said.
I froze in my little office and listened with horror for my mom's reply. "Be nice, Mom," I said to myself. I quickly contemplated rushing out there but then my cowardly side suggested I just hide in the office.
I startled from Mom's sudden outburst.
"Oh my, you must be Elsie!" She was basically yelling. "Wow, you are so fit and trim. I'm so envious. Lacey told me you run all the time. I wish I could work up that kind of willpower. I'd be running all over the place. Maybe even entering marathons." Mom's gushing hello bordered on hysteria.
I finally got my coward's feet moving and headed out to the front of the shop to save Elsie. Her face made it clear that she was slightly stunned by Mom's over-the-top welcome. I quickly took the tray of brownies from her hands to make sure nothing happened to them. (Priorities and all that.)
Mom was pelting a dumbstruck Elsie with questions about the right running shoes for older women and the best way to get started on a running regimen.
"Mom. Mom." It took me several more 'moms' to get her attention. "Let me introduce you properly. Then maybe you could couch the million questions about running for another time." I knew Mom was about as likely to start a running program as Dad was to start a sewing club. Wasn't going to happen, no matter how many questions she asked about it to make it seem possible.
"Mom, Peggy," I added. "This is my dear friend, Elsie. Elsie this is my mom, Peggy."
Elsie finally caught her breath from the enthusiastic welcome. "Nice to meet you, Peggy. I've heard so much about you. Let me just say we all just adore Pink, uh, I mean Lacey."
"Oh don't worry about that. Lacey's friends always called her Pink. I suppose that's why she named the shop Pink's Flowers." Mom was talking several times faster than normal, and there was a distinctive, high pitch in her tone. She was trying too hard. I tried to sneak her an expression to let her know that she could settle down, but she'd worked herself into a touch of frenzy.
"Thank you for the dessert," I interjected. "It was delicious. And these brownies smell divine. My dad loves fudge brownies."
"Yes, that dessert was fabulous," Mom piped up. "I've made something similar for our town block party, only I used raspberries and real whipped cream." She emphasized real.
Elsie smiled weakly, seemingly unsure how to respond. "Where is your dad? I'd love to meet him."
"He went next door with Les. They are planning a fishing trip," I answered quickly.
"I don't know what I'll do while your dad is off fishing," Mom said, sounding like a petulant child.
Before I could answer, Elsie stepped in and turned the whole bizarre first meeting into something fantastic. "Peggy, have you ever made petit fours?"
Mom shuffled in place on her new sandals. Today she was wearing a bright yellow t-shirt. It was a little hard on the eyes. "I have made them a few times at Christmas. They are a lot of work."
"I haven't made any since my early days in a French bakery, but I was thinking of trying it again. I would love your assistance. Maybe we can plan it on the same day as the fishing trip."
Mom looked close to tears. Tears of joy. "Only if you have time. I wouldn't want to get in your way. I know you have a busy day and so much work to do." She was gushing again, only this time it didn't sound extravagant and forced. Mom was genuinely thrilled at the prospect. And now, my adoration for Elsie was sealed. She'd turned an awkward moment upside down with her invitation.
"I have all the time in the world for the woman responsible for this dear girl." Elsie wrapped her arm around my shoulder for a squeeze. Now it seemed Elsie
was pouring it on a bit thick, but it seemed we'd gotten past the initial meeting and it was a huge success. As long as they didn't spend their petit four bake session discussing and organizing my love life. The thought of them alone talking about the one person they had in common terrified me some, but I'd get over it. I was just glad to see Mom happy.
"While you two decide on the baking day details, I've got to haul these herbs down to the marina."
"I've got to get back to the bakery." Elsie headed to the door. "Besides, we need to see what day Les and your dad pick for fishing."
"Nice meeting you and thank you for the brownies," Mom called as Elsie walked out. Mom turned to me with her big Cheshire cat grin. "What a lovely woman." She plucked a brownie from the tray and took a bite. "And such a great baker."
I patted my belly. "You don't have to tell me, Mom." I picked up the first box of herbs. Dad had driven the convertible to the shop. He'd left me the keys to drive the plants down to the pier.
Since tomorrow was a holiday, I decided to shut the shop down early. I needed to get the herbs to the garden club booth and my meticulously planned and prepared picnic basket to the auction. Naturally, I planned to confess to Briggs that my mom was the artist behind the sandwich. Unless maybe I forgot, which might happen too. Another thought suddenly dampened my spirit. What if he was too busy to bother with the auction? What if my lonely basket was left behind because no one wanted to bid on it? Why were holidays in this town so darn stressful?
Dad saw me loading the trunk of the car. He quickly finished his coffee and joined me. "Do you need some help, sport?"
"Yeah, Dad, there's just one more box. I need to grab the picnic basket."
We walked back into the flower shop. Mom was doing what she loved doing. Straightening and organizing. When she'd first walked into the shop, she'd had only one criticism—that the place looked a 'touch chaotic'. I assured her it was because Ryder and I had been too busy to clean up cuttings and petals and ribbons shreds. Otherwise, she seemed impressed and that was good enough for me. It seemed I owed Ryder a piece of pie.
Dahlias and Death Page 5
